Nothing Else Matters
by sonic-deducer
Summary: People change. Family remains the same. (AU in which Sam finished school and Dean continued the family business alone.)
1. Trust I Seek and I Find In You

When he woke to the doorbell, he thought at first that it was part of a dream. He rolled over in a vain attempt to fall back asleep, but it kept ringing until finally he groaned, rolling back to check the time on his cell phone. Half past four in the morning. He cursed and threw the covers back, storming down the stairs and through the main hallway to his front door. He paused for a moment to rub the sleep from his eyes before looking through the peep-hole, only mildly surprised to find an empty porch. After a moment's hesitation he hurled the door open, expecting a flaming bag of poop or something. What he found instead was no less alarming.

The spitting image of his brother at eight years old looked up through dripping, stick-straight blonde hair, eyeing him with an unwavering green gaze. For a moment he thought he was looking at a ghost. His breath caught in his throat, chest tightening in a way it hadn't since before he'd left for college, since before he'd left his family for what he'd thought would be a better life. Then he realized he was looking at a little girl. He gave her a quick once over, noting first the freckles peppered across her sharp nose, then the black eye and swollen lip she sported. She was wearing a suspiciously familiar leather jacket that was so big it shrouded her entirely. She held an oversized black duffel bag over one shoulder and a small pink backpack over the other.

He shook himself and cleared his throat. "Can I help you?"

She wiped her hair from her face with her free hand and sniffled.

"I hope so. Are you Sam Winchester?" When he went to answer he found his mouth had gone dry.

"Yes?" She set down the duffel bag and stuck a hand out which he hesitantly shook. The corner of her mouth curled up into a smile.

"It's nice to finally meet you. The name's Samantha Rose Winchester. I'm your niece." For a second he simply stared at her in open-mouthed shock.

_"Excuse me?"_

"I said I'm your niece. Can I come in? It's freezing out here." She hefted the duffel bag back onto her shoulder and pushed past him into his oversized house. He stood dumbstruck in the doorway until the heavy wind began to blow in the rain. He hadn't noticed until then that it was pouring outside. He snapped back into himself and shut the door against the cold.

"Wait, what do you think you're doing? And since when do I have a niece?" He turned to glare at her, flicking on the dim hall lights.

"Since nine years ago. Can't I explain later? I'm friggen starving." She muttered, setting off down the hall as if she knew where she was going. Sam scoffed.

"No you can't explain later! What are you doing here? And take your shoes off, you're tracking mud." She huffed, setting her duffel bag on the floor beside her.

"I'm here because I- _we_ need your help. Me and my dad. See, we were on a hunt, and…and it went bad. _Really bad._" Sam's mouth dropped open incredulously.

"A _hunt? You_ were on a _hunt?_"

"Yes. A _hunt._ We thought we were after a shapeshifter, but it wasn't what we thought at all." She was looking at the ground as she spoke. "It wasn't a shapeshifter, it was something else entirely. It looked human, but no human can do what it did. It got Dad, and, well…" She trailed off, struggling to find the right words. "I don't really know what happened, but Dad told me to make a run for it, to find you, and- and I uh…" She sniffed, wiping her nose on the back of her hand.

"He told you to- no way. There's just- there's no way. I haven't spoken to Dean in over a decade, sure, but if he ever had a kid, which if I _ever_ knew Dean, he _wouldn't,_ I'm sure he would've told me about it. And now you're trying to tell me that not only is he your father, but that you and he were hunting something- _without even knowing what it was_-and now he's in trouble and he needs _my_ help because whatever it was _"got him?_" He punctuated this last with air-quotes and shook his head. "Do you really expect me to believe this?" Samantha wasn't looking at him. She was staring at the ground, looking a bit more pathetic than a wet mouse. Suddenly Sam's incredulity turned into sour guilt.

She sniffed again and wiped unseen tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. "He told me you might react like that. He also said that you'd probably call the police on me or something, or try to get social services involved." Sam shifted uncomfortably, trying to pretend like he hadn't been thinking those exact things.

"And?"

"Here." She dug a wet letter from the pocket of her coat, retracing her steps to hand it to him. "He said I should give this to you if anything bad ever happened." He frowned, looking down at the limp envelope he held. His initials were printed on it in the somehow elegant chicken-scratch handwriting that could only belong to his older brother. "He told me not to read it until after I gave it to you." He looked at her for a moment as she sat down to untie her muddied boots, feeling slightly nauseous and entirely disoriented. He ran a hand down his face, blinking hard a few times to make sure she was really there.

"There's no chance this is just some twisted dream, is there?"

She looked up and cocked an eyebrow. "No."

He pursed his lips, pinching the bridge of his nose as a headache began to form. "What did you mean by _'it got Dad'?_ Is he- is he _dead?_" She flinched at his last word as if she'd been slapped in the face, swallowing hard before shaking her head no.

"I don't think so. There was no blood on the ground- I mean, it grabbed him and- well, it was before it grabbed him that he told me to go." Her voice had the thickness of repressed tears. He licked his lips and took a deep breath, looking back down at the girl as she neatly placed her shoes beside his own. "I've never disobeyed an order until then. I let off a few rounds, trying to distract it. I got in the shoulder but it didn't even hurt it, didn't even slow it down. It was so fast…it came at me and knocked me out." She motioned to her black eye. "I knew I couldn't fight it. I just wanted to get it away from Dad, give him a chance to get up and fight. Thing had a wicked backhand, sent me flying. I heard Dad scream but, when I came to, dad was gone, and the creature too. All that was left was Dad's jacket and the Impala."

"Impala? You mean _the_ Impala?" She nodded and stood, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her dad's coat.

"I called Bobby before my cell died and told him to come and get it. He wanted me to wait for him, but I didn't want to. And besides, I couldn't ignore Dad's order." When she looked up at him her eyes held the same determination that he used to see in Dean's. "Dad wanted me to find you, and I did. And whether you believe me or not doesn't really matter, because Dad's in trouble and you're the only one that can help me find him."

Sam brought his hands to his face and groaned. Everything about this situation was irrational and ludicrous, yes, but it had to be true. Dean wouldn't make any of this up just to get back in contact with him, and he knew too much about the "family business" to just disregard her story, even as much as he wanted to. He looked through his fingers at his niece. She looked absolutely pitiful in the dim light of his entryway, and a small part of him couldn't help but believe every word she'd said. He took a deep breath and mustered all the courage that he could.

"Come on. Let's get some dry clothes for you, and then we'll get you something to eat. We have a lot to talk about. And you're dripping all over my floor." She perked up at that, looking up through her mussed bangs with brightened eyes.

"I have my own clothes-"

"Which are probably filthy, not to mention stuffed in a soaking wet duffel bag. Let me throw them in the wash for you. I have some shorts and a t-shirt you can wear until they're done." The corner of her mouth flicked up in an exhausted, yet relieved, smile.

"Thanks."


	2. Never Opened Myself This Way

"Cool art. I like it. I bet it was really expensive." She piped up as she followed him down the hall. She paused, leaning in to inspect a particularly risqué painting.

"Yeah, it was." Sam was in no mood for conversation. He was concentrating too hard on staying calm. The whole situation had his head spinning so fast he nearly walked past the laundry room altogether.

When they finally reached the laundry room and began unpacking her bag, he was met with another surprise. There was a small arsenal hidden beneath her meager wardrobe, everything from guns and knives to stakes and holy artifacts. He couldn't help but be impressed.

They were quiet as they began to unpack her clothes from the duffel. All of her clothes were ragged and threadbare, and it was embarrassing to think about the life she and her brother had lived, harder still to think of all the money he'd wasted all these years while his brother and his family suffered. He dropped the shirt he'd been holding into the washing machine and cleared his throat, pausing to take in the clothes she still wore. Worn out tank top, ripped jeans, hole filled socks. He swallowed past a lump in his throat.

"You should take your jacket off. I'll hang it up so it can dry." She did as he suggested, though somewhat reluctantly, handing it to him as if handing off her security blanket. As he hung it next to the drier he realized she was much smaller without the jacket on. She was barely hip-height to him to begin with, and now that she'd taken the jacket off he could see she was practically skin and bones. The thought of her on any kind of hunt was nearly unimaginable.

He noticed something glinting on her shirt as she pulled more clothes from her duffel bag. Any doubt he'd been harboring that she was Dean's daughter vanished when he saw an amulet -_Dean's amulet- _dangling from her neck. He went cold, hand clenching into a fist around the shirt he held.

"Is that-" He swallowed, cleared his throat, "-Did your father give you that?"

She stopped what she was doing and looked up with a slight frown.

"Give me what?"

"That necklace." She looked down as if she'd forgotten she was wearing it.

"Yeah." She brought her hand to it, slowly closing her fingers around it. Her voice was quiet when she spoke up again.

"You gave it to him when you were kids, right? He used to tell me about your adventures together." His stomach clenched tighter, as if reality kept kicking him in the gut. He licked his lips and nodded, picking up a pair of her jeans. '_Adventures?'_ He thought_. 'Since when are nightmares referred to as adventures? '_

"Yes. But that was… a _long_ time ago." A steely silence surrounded them as he finished putting her laundry in the machine.

"Come on." He gingerly shut the lid to the washing machine, noticing the goosebumps on her arms.

"Let's get some dry clothes for you. You can take a shower if you want." She nodded with enthusiasm.

"That sounds _awesome_."

Nearly two hours later they were headed to the kitchen. She'd taken her time in the shower. Sam had posted up on the couch, trying and failing to quantify all the recent events. He pinched himself several times to see if he was dreaming; even though he felt the pain he didn't believe he was awake. He was seriously considering grabbing a hot coal just to see if he'd wake up when she finally emerged from the guest bathroom, practically swimming in the sweater and sweat pants he'd give her to wear. He rolled up her sleeves and pants legs and led her into the kitchen. He hadn't felt this zombie-like since his college days.

She kept her backpack with her the entire time. He was curious about its contents but couldn't muster the energy to ask.

"Do you have any beer?" She chirped, setting her little pink backpack down on the counter before practically running to his refrigerator. She threw the door open and began examining its contents.

"Don't tell me he lets you drink beer."

"Yeah, sure, all the time." She turned with a bottle of water and a big grin. "I'm just kidding."

He took a seat at the counter and set the envelope in front of him, running his trembling hands through his disheveled hair. He had so many questions that he hardly knew where to start.

"How did you find me?"

"Easy. You're the only Sam Winchester in the book that also happens to be a lawyer. And a very successful lawyer too, based on the number of garages you have." She set a container of mashed potatoes on the counter before turning back to retrieve his leftover steak and a carton of milk. "I took six buses and a taxi to get to your office, which was _really_ boring, and then, after all that, it was friggen closed when I got there." She continued, pulling out the chair beside him as if it were the most natural thing to do.

"So," She continued, climbing up into the chair, "I went and got some pie from the restaurant down the street, came back to your office, broke in, found your address, and took another taxi here. Which, by the way, I spent my last fifty bucks on." She paused for a moment, glaring quizzically at the makeshift meal before her. "Where's your microwave?"

"You need to put it on a plate first, you can't microwave those containers." Sam put his head down on the countertop. The rational part of his mind had given up quantifying the situation and had gone back to bed. The rest of him wanted to follow its example.

Samantha frowned and looked up at the cabinets. They all had glass doors that sparkled cleanly in the fluorescents, proudly displaying their contents. It didn't take her long to find the plates. The bar stool was obnoxiously loud as she pulled it around the bar. Sam thumped his forehead on the counter a few times before standing to get some silverware for her. He even went so far as to dump the steak and potatoes out on the plate she'd gotten and stick it in the microwave.

"Thanks." She grinned up at him as he set the steaming plate down in front of her before pushing her stool closer to the bar. She said a quick grace and dug in without further ado.

"Yah know," She managed through a mouthful of steak, "You really oughta read that letter." She pointed a potato laden fork at him. "I really want to know what it says."

He took a deep breath, trying to settle his nerves, but it didn't work. If anything it made him more anxious. He reached for the letter, just then noticing that his hands were shaking. At that point he didn't care. The envelope was sealed, but it looked worn, as if it had been handled a lot. The paper inside was crisp though, folded neatly into a square. Dean's handwriting was even messier than he remembered, as if he'd been in a hurry when he wrote the letter. Either that, or he'd been drinking. The latter was more probable than the former.

_Sammy-_

_If you're reading this, then chances are I'm either missing, or dead, or both. And, if you're reading this, you've probably met my girl, Samantha. __I'm sorry that __You're probably wondering why I never told you about her. You told me a long time ago to keep my life out of yours, that you wanted nothing to do with me and 'the old life' as you put it. Well I've kept my promises as long as I could, and I'm sorry that I have to get you involved now, but obviously something's gone wrong or else you wouldn't be reading this. I know you're probably wondering why I didn't just send her to Bobby. I still trust you more than any other person on earth, Sammy, whether you like it or not. I'm sorry that I can't __be more __leave you out of whatever it is I've gotten myself into, but you're all I have left now, except for Samantha. Whatever's gone wrong, if you're reading this, __please help __then it means that I really, really need some help. I need you to call a woman named Ellen and tell her I'm in trouble, or tell Samantha to let her in on the situation. I've put Ellen's number on the back of this letter, and a couple of others that might be able to help you figure things out. You've been out of the game a long time, and things have changed__ a lot__. Samantha can fill you in on the last ten years of my life __if you'd care to know__. If she's hurt, don't take her to the hospital unless it's life threatening. The credit card gig expired __when dad__ a while back, and our cash is in short supply. Take her to Ellen's and she'll get her patched up. Please Sam, you know I wouldn't bring you into anything that I could get myself out of. _

_-Dean._

_P.S. If I'm dead, take Samantha to Ellen's and drop her off. She'll take care of her. _

_P.S.S. Please tell Samantha I love her._

He hadn't noticed he was crying until tears started dripping onto the letter, making the ink smudge a bit.

Samantha had long since stopped eating, watching him with rapt attention. He didn't move for what felt like a very long time, the letter held tight in his shaking hands as he tried to digest what he'd just read. It felt more like a suicide note than a cry for help.

After what felt like an eternity he cleared his throat and tried to regain his composure, but there was a white-hot lump of shame and anger and fear blocking his airways. He couldn't bring his eyes up from the last line. '_So it's all true.' _He thought. His brother was really in danger, and he had to go and save him from whatever it was he'd gotten himself into. He dropped the letter to the counter and wiped furiously at the hot tears running down his face. He was too tired for this.

"What does it say?" Samantha's voice was very small. The lump in Sam's throat grew to the size of Toronto, but somehow he managed to swallow hard enough to get some air past it.

"It says that he loves you very much, and that-" He swallowed again, took another breath, "It says that he needs our help." Samantha took a sip of milk.

"I knew that already. Let me see that." She tried to snatch it away from him, but he was faster than she'd expected.

"No. Not yet." He tucked the letter back into the envelope and stuffed it into his pocket.

He stood and stalked to his liquor cabinet, pouring himself a generous glass of whiskey. His voice was rough when he spoke next.

"It looks like you'll be staying here for a while, until we get things figured out." He was surprised at how easily he'd agreed to help. Especially on the note his last meeting with Dean had ended on. His eyes narrowed as he stared into the amber depths of his liquor. At length he turned to face her, leaning against the counter. She'd gone back to eating, legs swinging in a carefree way as she chewed. It was uncanny how much she looked like her father; the blonde hair, green eyes, sharp nose peppered with freckles. But her build was too small, too lithe to belong to Dean. Dean was stocky, strong. She was lanky, almost frail looking. That must've been her mother.

"So," He swirled his drink before taking another sip, "You hunt with him, huh?"

"Yep." She emphasized the 'p' with a pop. "I've been doing it since I was born."

"Doesn't it scare you?" She shrugged indifferently, stuffing an oversized bite of potatoes into her mouth.

"It used to," she slurred, pausing to swallow, "But whenever I got scared, Mom and Dad would always tell me that there's nothing to be scared of cause they'd always be there, no matter what, and nothing else mattered." Her eyes grew distant.

"Mom always used to remind me that God was there too, all around us, and that made me feel better." When she looked back up her eyes were wet. "He is my strength. He's what kept us together." Sam nearly choked on his drink.

"Dean _believes_?" He spat incredulously. It didn't sound like the Dean he'd used to know. _At all._

"Well…I don't really know. Mom had me baptized before they went back to hunting. She said it was better protection than any charm Dad could ever get me. She and I used to go to church as often as we could, but Dad never really came with us. And when he did he didn't really take part in anything." She swirled her potatoes absently around her plate.

"Last time we went to church was for Mom's funeral." Sam's eyebrows drew together, but he didn't press it. With a sniff she stopped swirling her potatoes and looked up through her bangs at him. She looked tired. He downed the rest of his drink, running a hand down his face.

"You must be exhausted. You can sleep in a guest bedroom if you'd like."

"No, beds give me nightmares. I'll crash on the couch if that's ok." He shrugged.

"Whatever suits you. I'll get you some blankets."

He set the couch up as a makeshift bed while she brushed her teeth. He'd never tucked anyone in before, so he settled for asking if she needed anything. She shook her head no, murmured goodnight, and pulled the blanket up over her head. He stood beside the couch for an awkward moment before muttering a worn goodnight in return and shuffling his bedroom.

He almost felt bad leaving her alone in the living room, but he was so delirious and confused he couldn't bring himself to care. He flopped face first on his bed and heaved a great sigh. More tears threatened at the thought of what he might have to wake up and contend with if this didn't all turn out to be some bizarre dream. He fell asleep thinking of his brother, of his old life, and dreamt of how it used to be.


	3. Life Is Ours, We Live It Our Way

Bobby Singer was a man of many talents. Hiding his emotions was not one of them. He was currently sitting in his study, nearly in a rage, face red and hands shaking. Samantha wasn't answering the phone. He hadn't been able to reach her since she'd hung up on him after telling him to fetch the Impala.

He'd found the Impala on the side of the road where Samantha said it would be. It took him nearly six hours to get there. If it hadn't been for the GPS tracking device he'd installed, he never would have found it. He wished he could've installed one on her, too.

"Come on kid, pick up the damn phone." He growled. Again it went straight to voicemail. He cursed, hitting the end button and trying again.

Samantha dreamt of darkness. Empty, beautiful darkness. It had been a long time since she'd gotten a night's sleep free of nightmares. She woke to sunrays poking out from behind the blinds in an unfamiliar living room. She went still, clutching the blankets to her chin as her eyes darted around, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings.

"Dad?" She called out, voice small and sleep-roughened. There was no answer. She sat up, inspecting her surroundings. It took her almost ten minutes to remember everything. She bit her bottom lip to keep it from trembling as the memories came slamming back. Tears clouded her vision and she suddenly felt very, very alone.

"Did you sleep alright?" A deep, tired voice from her left caught her attention and she sniffed, wiping her eyes on the sleeve of the sweatshirt she wore.

"Uh, yeah sure." She managed, chest beginning to ache as she forced the tears back. She didn't like to cry in front of anyone, especially people she didn't know well. Sam padded into the living room, taking a seat beside her on the couch. They sat in awkward silence for a moment before he reached over and pulled her into a hug. She couldn't help it; she let loose, crying harder than she could ever remember doing, at least since her mother's funeral. Thinking about that didn't help at all, and it was all she could do to keep from screaming as she sobbed, clinging to Sam.

At first, Sam wasn't quite sure what to do. He'd been doing a lot of thinking though, and he knew in his heart that he couldn't deny her his help. He didn't want to tell her it would be okay, because he really had no idea what was going to happen. So he just held her, rocking gently until her sobbing began to calm down.

"You know," He started, as she began to calm down, "I'm a little rusty with this whole hunting thing. I noticed you've got quite a few guns with you. Maybe after breakfast we can do a little target practice?" He asked, hoping to distract her at least for a moment. She nodded, sitting up.

"Do you have any guns?" She asked, wiping her nose on her sleeve.

"I've got a few, but none as cool as yours." She smiled.

"Nobody's got guns as cool as me and Dad's. We made 'em ourselves." She said proudly, hoarse voice squeaking in excitement. He laughed.

"Come on. I'll fix you some breakfast. I hope you like pancakes."

"Bobby, calm down. We'll figure this out. Just take a deep breath-"

"Don't tell me to calm down, Ellen!" Bobby snapped, slamming a hand down on the table. Ellen jumped at the sound, narrowing her eyes at her old friend. He frowned apologetically.

"Sorry. I'm just…this is Samantha and Dean we're talking about, and they've both just vanished. Well, Samantha vanished. According to her, Dean was..was.." He trailed off, not wanting to think about what could have happened. Ellen clapped a hand on his shoulder before walking past him to fix them both a drink.

"I know. But they're both hunters, Bobby, same as you and me. They both know the dangers of this life, just as well as us."

"But Samantha's just a kid, Ellen. She only knows what Dean wants her to." Ellen raised an eyebrow, shoving a glass of whiskey into the older man's hand.

"We've raised that kid just as much as he has. She's perfectly capable of protecting herself against most things that go bump in the night." Bobby flopped ungracefully into his chair, taking a sip of his drink. It was true. Between the three of them, Samantha was just as lethal as any full grown hunter he knew. But that didn't help the fact that she and her father were both missing.

"There is one possibility we haven't exactly discussed." Ellen swirled her drink, ice clinking against the glass.

"And what's that?" He asked, voice tired. Ellen smirked.

"He could've sent her to Sam." Bobby looked up, eyebrows climbing his forehead.

"You can't be serious. He might be headstrong, but he ain't stupid. Sam would turn her away in heartbeat." He took another drink, making a face at the bitterness. "No way he'd help her out. He doesn't even know she exists, why would he ever believe that she's his niece?"

"Besides the fact that she looks exactly like her father? Gee, Bobby, I dunno." She countered sarcastically. "Hell, she even sounds like Dean with that little rough voice of hers." She chuckled. "I say we give him a call. At least that way we'll know. She's got enough of her mother in her not to go running off after Dean after he got taken by….whatever it was that got him." Her voice was quiet as she remembered Bobby's frantic call, telling her all that had happened.

Bobby sighed, rubbing his forehead with the cold glass. It did nothing to help the headache.

"Alright, fine." He picked his cell phone up and punched in Sam's number, hoping it was still the right one, let alone still in service.

Samantha had eaten twelve pancakes and six pieces of sausages before Sam could even finish his first cup of coffee. He wasn't surprised. Her father could eat twice as much in the same amount of time. He had just placed another stack on her plate when his phone rang. He took a sip of coffee and picked it up off the counter, eyes widening as he recognized the number. He cleared his throat and picked up.

"Bobby?"

"Hello Sam." Bobby gruffed, apprehension evident in his tone. "Been a while."

Sam sighed, deciding to cut to the chase.

"Yeah. Look, I know you're not calling to make small talk. This is about Samantha, right?" Bobby's shoulders sagged as a flood of relief washed over him.

"Yes, the little idjit. Is she alright?"

"She's fine, just hungry. She's eaten about fifteen and half pancakes."

"Yeah it sounds like her. Would you mind if I-"

"Yeah hold on." Sam handed the girl the phone before turning away to refill his coffee.

"Heya Bobby!" She chirped through a mouthful of pancakes. Sam couldn't help but smirk. He could hear Bobby scolding her through the phone even across the kitchen.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, geez. My phone died, alright? I was gonna call you- No, I got all the weapons and stuff. Yes, I managed to carry it on my own." She said, tone mocking. "What? Why? No, I know how to pick a lock you know. Ok. Ellen's there? Can I say hi?" Sam stirred some sugar into his coffee, listening intently. He wondered who Ellen was, if she was a hunter too.

"I know, I know. I'm sorry. Yeah, I'm alright. Is the Impala okay?" A hearty laugh came through the phone. "Good. Tell Bobby it needs an oil change. No I'm just kidding. Ok, hold on." She held the phone out to Sam.

"She wants to talk to you." He frowned but took the phone anyway.

"Hello?"

"Sam? Is that you? My goodness you sound old." He scoffed.

"Um, I don't believe we've met."

"I'm Ellen. I knew your dad. Last we met you were knee high to a duck. I don't expect you to remember."

"Yeah, no. I don't."

"I just wanted to thank you for taking care of Samantha. She can be a handful, I know. Don't let her eat you out of house and home, cause she's perfectly able to." She joked.

"Yeah, I'm noticing that." He turned away from the girl, folding his arms across his chest.

"Have-" He cleared his throat, "Have you heard anything from-"

"No, not a thing. I think it's time we had ourselves a little get together. We've got a lot to talk about." Sam nodded, then remembered she couldn't hear a nod.

"Uh right. Is Bobby still-"

"Same place as ever. Think you can head down today? I know it's a bit of a drive from where you are." She added, "We can come up there if need be. It would just be more convenient if you could make the trip."

"No that's fine. I'll get Samantha cleaned up and we'll head down. It'll be a while, we might not get there until after dark."

"That's fine. Just be careful."

"Yeah." He said his goodbyes to both Ellen and Bobby and handed Samantha the phone so she could do the same.

"Looks like we'll have to take a rain check on target practice." He said, finishing his coffee. She stuffed a last bite of sausage into her mouth, nodding.

"I'll show you a few things when we get to Bobby's." He smiled, nodding in return.

"Sure."


End file.
